Red Ryder
by Sandwich Shop Mayo
Summary: It was cold, and cold meant Winter. And Winter meant Christmas.


_Wanted to post this for Christmas, but didn't have time to finish it. So this is a little late, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. **PurpleCrayons**, you wanted a longer story, so here ya have it!_

* * *

In the end it was Daryl who made the nonchalant announcement, much to everyone's surprise.

Several faces looked up, surprised and curious. Daryl stared at them uncomfortably, shrugging his shoulders finally and following his announcement with a low, "just from watching the stars. Ain't probably right, anyway."

That was all it took, though. After all, it was cold, and cold meant Winter. And Winter meant Christmas. Before everyone knew it Carol was organizing a Secret Santa, Beth and Maggie were decorating the cells with paper made ornaments and empty food cans, and Hershel and Carol were guilting Daryl into taking a tree down and bringing it inside. Sure it wasn't pine, and it resembled something out of _Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown_, but it didn't matter when suddenly smiles began to appear on everyone's faces as they counted down the days to this speculative Christmas.

Rick had been reluctant, not wanting Carl to feel melancholic about the holidays without his mother, but Carl soon seemed to join in the excitement (which Rick suspected had more to do with Beth than with actual Christmas). People began to laugh again, teasing Hershel about his appearance to Santa Claus, and for the first time in months Rick found himself relaxing, however slightly. Keeping them safe had been a struggle; keeping them happy... he'd never been able to achieve that, and it felt nice to finally see everyone in a good mood.

Not that he had much time to enjoy it, and in the end he was glad Daryl had made that first announcement. Everyone was so excited about the upcoming holidays that they barely realized the threat they were still under. While Carol, Beth, and Maggie organized the festivities, Rick, along with Daryl and Michonne, were free to try to figure out how to take The Governor down. And the more smiles appeared at the prison, the more tense Rick became about the Governor and Woodbury, realizing taking Woodbury out would be impossible with their small numbers. Hope bloomed around their little scrawny Christmas tree, but hope was drained out of him each day that passed and counted the seconds down to an imminent attack from The Governor.

How could he tell them, that this little Christmas party might be the last time they'd be happy and together? How to break the news? And how long before it happened?

Daryl turned the tables again one afternoon as he stood on the watchtower, shouting down like a maniac. Rick looked to the horizon, noticing two figures approaching. Not walkers. People. They were were struggling, taking out the number of walkers that were approaching them. One was clearly a fighter, the other one was huffing, soon to be a meal.

Rick frowned, wondering if this was it. The attack on the prison. Woodbury's infantry.

But then Daryl's shouting reached his ears, "open the gates!" and Rick, along with Glenn, ran up to the fences. From up close he sucked in a deep breath, realizing one of the approaching figures was none other than Andrea. He reached for the chains quickly, opening the locks and heaving the fence aside. Along with Glenn he ran up to meet them in the middle of the field, dispensing of walkers as they went along. As he neared them he saw the second figure, a pudgy guy with glasses, but his eyes mostly focused on Andrea. The side of her face was covered in blood and she looked exhausted, even as she continued to fight. Rick didn't think much about it. He merely grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back into the prison as Glenn helped the second guy.

Everything happened so fast and blood was pumping through him so fast that nothing registered until he saw Carol helping Andrea onto her feet. And in a flash his gun was suddenly on the stranger, the barrel of his Python aimed straight at the guy's forehead. He'd stopped being a merciful guy long ago. Mercy was for the weak. Trusting was foolish. And Andrea had clearly been hurt by _someone_. He was just about to pull the trigger when from behind him,

"No!"

He turned his head, surprised, gun still aimed. Andrea had her hands on her knees, breathing heavily, with Carol's arm around her shoulders.

"It's okay. He's okay," she gasped before her eyes fluttered close and she collapsed.

And then once again. A million things happening at once. Daryl picked Andrea up in his arms and with Hershel, Beth, and Carol, they ran towards the prison. Carl, Maggie, Glenn, and Michonne stayed behind.

And the barrel of Rick's gun stayed pressed against the stranger's forehead.

And then what? What to do? Who was this guy? How could he trust him? How could he trust anyone anymore? Andrea had said he was okay, but was Andrea in the right state of mind? Had Andrea been compromised? Blood continued to pump through him fast, hot, and his fingers itched to pull on the trigger.

"He _is_ okay."

It was Michonne who finally became the rational one.

"He's not like them. Just stupid enough to fall for them."

But Rick kept his gun in place, analyzing the guy. Overweight, out of shape, wearing glasses. But what did it matter? They weren't living in a world of stereotypes anymore. Appearances didn't matter. A guy built like a tank could be as weak as a 13 year old girl. A scrawny little thing like Andrea could take out hundreds. So why trust appearances? How could he?

His gun stayed in place as his hand trembled.

"Please, don't," the guy suddenly said, his voice weak and almost feminine.

"Who are you?" Rick growled.

"My name is Milton. _Please_." The guy was still panting from the action, his hands shaking, his eyes moist with tears. "I... we had to get out of there. Andrea... she couldn't... _Please_, you have to believe me. Ask her."

The guy suddenly seemed so pathetic that Rick lowered his gun without even realizing it.

"Who hurt her?"

"He did," Milton told Michonne quickly. "I told her to pretend! I told her to play along but... Jesus," Milton said. "We weren't safe anymore. Ask her. She'll explain."

Rick sneered, and the longer he stared, the more Milton cried. In the end he decided to trust Michonne, and leaned into her. "Keep an eye on him."

He could've sworn he heard a whimper leave Milton as he walked away, and decided Judith herself could probably take this guy.

He had to part the small sea of people gathered outside of the infirmary, and found Hershel inside, tending to Andrea. She was still unconscious. Hershel had wiped the blood from her face and Rick noticed he was trying to stitch a large cut on the side of her cheek. He winced as he watched. The cut looked straight, precise, and he knew right away it hadn't been a fight or an accident.

This cut was deliberate. Planned. He could see it in the way it angled perfectly. She'd been cut on purpose, with meaning. He didn't know why it made him so angry, or why it reminded him of his old days as a cop, answering to all those spousal abuse calls that used to turn Shane so crazy with hatred and the need to hit someone.

"She alright?"

Hershel kept his eyes on his work, his fingers moving slowly, delicately. "She's dehydrated. Little low on calories. Tired. Could probably use a good meal."

Rick sighed. "You just described pretty much all of us."

Hershel nodded, amused.

As he walked in closer he noticed the cut. It began at the corner of her mouth and ran straight up to her hairline. He grimaced at it, but actually became nauseous when he realized part of her earlobe was missing. Definitely not an accidental cut. This cut meant something. It was meant to tell her, or possibly him, something.

"Is that her only injury?"

"Some bruises, small cuts," Hershel said. "A good night's sleep and some water and she'll be fine, if I remember her spirit correctly."

Rick almost smiled. Andrea survived the death of her sister, a suicide attempt, the attack on the farm, and being chased through the woods by a herd. Of course a cut wouldn't take her down.

"I remember her vanity, too," Hershel added. "I'm sorry this is gonna leave her with a scar. I just don't have the right equipment."

"I'd rather have her scarred than dead," Rick said. He'd heard the story from Michonne a million times, and the resentment and venom in Michonne's voice was always palpable. Yet he couldn't bring himself to believe that Andrea would choose the evil side. Andrea, who had fought Dale tooth and nail for her gun back just so she could protect the group, the same woman who risked her life to save Carol's.

As he watched her there, so helpless, that feeling came back again. None of this would've happened, she wouldn't be hurt, if he'd only allowed Daryl to go back for her.

Or if he'd gotten her out of Woodbury when he rescued Daryl.

Since he found out she was still alive he'd been wondering about her safety. Michonne tried to soothe those feelings by explaining Andrea had chosen Woodbury and that the Governor didn't hurt his own people. Obviously Michonne had been wrong, but what did it matter? How was that surprising? It'd been his choice to leave her behind, while he preached gospel about the safety of every single person in their group. He'd risked his life, ended Amy's life, by deciding to go back for Merle, and yet he couldn't give her the same consideration.

He wondered if he was merely destined to let Andrea down over and over again. It seemed to be a recurring theme, her losing because of his harsh decisions. Decisions that had left her bereft of a family, first Amy, then Dale, and ultimately herself. Her own life.

How could he antagonize her, the way Michonne had implied he should?

"I can stay with her tonight," Carol said as she walked into the cell. "Least I could do, after what she did for me."

Rick nodded, placing a hand on Carol's fragile shoulder. "Come and find me when she wakes up. I need answers."

He never really got them all. And the ones he got were vague. He chucked it up to her exhaustion and her injuries, and let her be. But the days passed and he still didn't know what happened to her in Woodbury.

The group wasn't helping, either. After Michonne's story, most of them were reluctant to trust her. Only Carol and Daryl received her back, arms wide open. The rest ignored her.

And Rick...

He was troubled by both his decision to leave her behind and his desperation to know more about Woodbury. Andrea was the key, the the most important piece of the game. She was The Queen in his and the Governor's game of Chess, and he needed to make sure he could utilize her the right way.

But her silence made it impossible for him to plan his next move.

When all else failed, he decided to put his trust in the last person he would ever trust at the prison.

* * *

Milton was sitting at the cafeteria that afternoon, with Carl in front of him. He had a coin in his hand and Rick quickly realized he was showing Carl a magic trick. Carl laughed as the coin first disappeared and then re-appeared behind his ear, and for a short moment Rick saw the little boy that had been lost to him months ago. He was reluctant to break the moment, but this was it and he needed to know the truth.

"Carl, why don't you go play with Beth for a bit?"

Carl looked at his father knowingly. "Go play" these days meant something important was about to happen and Rick thought he was still too young to get involved. Still, the child didn't argue, knowing that look in his father's eyes. He merely rose and walked away, and as he did Rick took his seat and leaned forward.

"I'm done with all this cryptic bullshit," he hissed at Milton, who quickly shriveled in his seat. "She won't talk to me. So you get to. You tell me everything that happened back there."

Milton gulped. "I thought Michonne-"

"Michonne isn't exactly the chatty type, and what she's telling me doesn't match up with what I've seen," Rick said. "She says Andrea is with Woodbury now, but that cut on her face tells me Michonne might be a little biased in her account. And Andrea isn't talking much, so how about you and I have a little chat?"

Milton shifted nervously in place. "I... just... I don't know what you want to hear."

"How about the truth?"

Milton nodded, looking down, trying to figure out where to start. Where to start, with The Governor? He was sure he could fill out a whole book and still have enough extra material for a sequel.

"You don't know the Governor," he said, playing with his fingers nervously. "He lost his wife just a few months before this began. So going into this he was already losing it. He had a daughter. Cute kid. Same age as your son. Penny. She got bit, turned... He couldn't put her down, thought he could still save her. Til you showed up he thought he could cure her," Milton said, remembering that sweet child, remembering how many times he wished the Governor could just let her rest in peace. "Michonne killed her. That really messed him up. After losing Penny he became... well, worse."

Rick nodded, feeling absolutely no sympathy for the man who was currently trying to murder them. They'd all lost people, after all.

"In the beginning it was just a few of us. 7 or so. Small group, like your people. I don't know how he did it. Looking back on it now, I think he just got lucky. But the rest of them, they saw him as a savior. We found this town, we settled in. He got a small group to go out every day, scout around the area. Not for food or medication, but for survivors," Milton continued, re-adjusting his glasses and struggling to say just enough. "He knew our survival depended on our numbers. Every day that group would go out there and find people. So the town kept growing. As it grew he was able to delegate, you know? Give people certain jobs. This made the people feel safe. Normal. Kids started going back to school. And that's it. You give people something to do, they forget that the world is shit. That's how you manipulate people. You distract them. He's good at that. He did it with me."

Rick nodded, adding, "he did it with Andrea."

"Don't underestimate her," Milton said. "She was a firecracker when she first got there. She asked questions, she challenged him. But you don't get how good he is at what he does," he said. "She kept asking questions, but he knows how to play the town. He gave her free reign to investigate, but asked us, me, Merle, Martinez, _everyone_, to lie to her. When your kids were there, he handed her off to me to distract her with some bullshit experiment. While he was torturing her friends my job was to distract her."

"So this guy is some sort of psychopath?" Rick wondered, seeing easily the fear in his eyes as Milton described the Governor. "That what you're saying?"

"I don't know what he is," Milton said.

"I think we've all seen what he's done."

"He's losing it, that's for sure," Milton added. "He wasn't always like this. He really liked her, actually. Andrea. I think he may have had feelings for her. I mean, he'd never gone that all out for a woman before."

"Yeah, cutting up her face and her ear," Rick said sarcastically, tightening his jaw. "Real romantic."

Milton sighed, trying to get his thoughts together. "When you got to town that night, she didn't know it was you. He told her the town was being attacked by terrorists. She volunteered to fight, but he wanted her away from the action. He didn't want her to know it was you. Then she saw Daryl. It happened so fast. Before we knew it, you were back. She tried to save Daryl, but they put a gun to her. When you came back I was able to get her away for the night. I explained everything. About the Governor, Michonne, Merle... you. Your group.

You know Andrea. Right away she wanted to march right back and confront the Governor. I had to convince her that it would be safer for her, for you, if she just pretended. That's what I'd been doing the whole time."

He stopped, trying to let that sink in and not knowing, until he said it out loud now, how much he'd gone through in that town. Rick gave him time to continue. "I fell for it too," Milton added, scratching his throat. "The Governor. Woodbury. It's easy to fall for it. But once you realize how dangerous that place is... there's nothing you can do about it. You can't leave. You can't confront him. If he thinks you're against him, he'll kill you."

Rick nodded, finally making sense of The Governor, of Woodbury. He looked down for a moment, wondering if this is where Shane might've ended, crazy with grief, a dangerous murderer. He didn't want to linger on the thought for too long and looked up at Milton. "So why leave? Why turn against him?"

"Andrea," he answered, smiling bitterly as he nodded, recalling. "She... she was the only person in that town who ever seemed to care about me. She asked me about my past, my parents." Rick looked at him strangely and Milton sighed, sitting forward. "You don't understand. I've been a loner my whole life. No one ever talks to me. I spent my whole life alone in an apartment, playing computer games. My only friends were online friends. And most of them, I only knew their usernames, so that should tell you what a social butterfly I am."

Milton shrugged his shoulders and Rick finally realized the guy wasn't a threat. If anything, he started to take pity on him.

"But she cared. No one ever cared before," Milton said, nodding and smiling. "She's a good person. I just wanted to protect her. But I'm not a fighter. I can't even shoot a gun. Only way I know to get by is by being smart. And that's how I've been getting by. I've been playing him, The Governor. I convinced her to play him, too. But it was different for her. She had to lay there with him every night, pretending she wasn't disgusted by him. I guess it became too much. He discovered what she was up to right away, and that was it."

Rick didn't want to imagine the confrontation. If her scar was an indication, it must've been ugly and he already felt guilty enough.

"I didn't see her for three days," Milton continued. "I thought she was dead. I mean, if you're not with him you're against him, and if you're against him you're dead. I figured he'd killed her. But then she showed up a few nights ago at my door, bleeding and asking for help." He swallowed hard, remembering the fear in her eyes and the adrenaline that suddenly took over him as he realized her life depended on him. He looked at Rick. "I never even killed a biter. I don't fight. I can't even run. But she cared about me and I knew I had to care for her. She had her gun, I had a few knives. And we just ran."

Rick tightened his jaw. "That easily."

"Woodbury itself isn't the hell you imagine it to be, Mr. Grimes. The Governor is an evil man, but the people who live there are good, kind, innocent people. Even his cronies are good men, just trying to stay alive. They do what they do because he manipulates them. Leaving was easy. They saw me, they saw the blood on her face... they saw an opportunity to save two of their people and they took it. No doubt they'll pay for that harshly."

Rick nodded again, satisfied to have some answers, but still craving for more. He looked at Milton. "What did he do to her?"

"I don't know," Milton said honestly. "She won't say and I won't ask. Truth is... I saw what happened to the other women. Andrea... it doesn't matter what he did to her. Probably the same thing he did to the other women. Difference is, she was lucky to get away alive."

"Lucky," Rick repeated with a bitterness in his tone.

"Sheriff, your group's definition of lucky is not Woodbury's definition of lucky," Milton said. "Your definition of lucky is escaping a biter's attack. Our definition of lucky is escaping the imagination of a psychopath. Make no mistake, I feel for your one legged fellow. But your women... you have no idea how dangerous it is for women out there. I know. Andrea knows.

I know you want answers. Do her a favor and don't ask," Milton said. "Leave her with the little dignity she has. She already blames herself. I don't see a point in bringing up the memory of those three nights. Unless you've been his prisoner, you don't know the torture this man is capable of."

Milton rose, looking at Rick one last time before walking away. "Leave her alone."

Rick sighed, looking down and letting everything sink in. For a long time he didn't move, too stunned by everything Milton spilled out. Too afraid of moving, of being, and making this new world a reality again. Finally he tightened his jaw, looking away.

_Leave her alone._

But how could he do that? Their safety, the prison... _everything_ depended on getting all the answers. And only one person _had_ all the answers. Everything came down to Andrea.

He couldn't let it go.

He needed more. He needed to put a plan together. He need to know where he was going to move his Queen.

* * *

It wasn't rare to walk out of the prison these days and not see Andrea up in the watchtower. Without being asked, she'd wake up first thing in the morning, grab her gun, and march up there. Carol would bring her lunch, often also dinner, and at the end of the day she'd climb down and retire to her cell without talking to anyone.

Rick watched her every move carefully. For sure she wasn't the same Andrea he'd left at the farm, and he knew that made sense, but the little time she spent with the group she'd spend looking around, as if she was waiting for something to happen. With everyone busy or mad at her, the only member of the group she bonded with was little Judy. Periodically, she'd take the baby from Carol, who was exhausted from child rearing and doing all the laundry and cooking. It didn't take long for Rick to realize why Andrea took to Judith -

Judith didn't talk. Judith didn't bombard her with questions about Woodbury. Judith didn't look at her like the rest of them did, like she was a complete stranger, someone they couldn't trust anymore. Judith would simply snuggle to her chest and sleep and the very few times Rick saw Andrea smile was with Judy in her arms.

The group didn't notice, or didn't care. Their Christmas was only a few days away and everyone was busy making preparations and trying to find gifts for their Secret Santa. Even Milton had been reeled into the project, and with his knowledge he helped Maggie and Beth paint the light bulbs at the cafeteria red and green for the festivities. Milton was integrated into the group instantly, while Andrea remained an outsider.

* * *

He couldn't really remember the last time he saw everyone laughing. Not just smiling. _Laughing_.

When Maggie called out to Glenn and Daryl that they were standing under the mistletoe, both men jumped and ran far away from each other and everyone laughed so hard Hershel nearly fell out of his chair.

Rick looked around the group, happy faces smiling at each other. He couldn't remember the last time he saw everyone this happy, and it warmed his heart. Daryl approached him, still sneering at the idea of kissing Glenn.

Rick smiled at him. "That was a good thing you told us about Christmas."

Daryl turned towards the happy group. "Yeah, look at 'em."

"It's probably a good thing we don't have alcohol," Rick noted.

"Probably," Daryl said, his shoulders relaxing. They both watched the group for a moment, and then Daryl added deliberately, "she still up there, huh?"

Rick looked down, knowing who Daryl was referring to. Andrea had declined Carol's invitation to the party, claiming no one knew when the Governor would strike and someone needed to keep watch. Secretly, Rick knew why.

And he was so done with it.

He turned to Daryl, "keep Carl and Beth away from the mistletoe for me, will ya?"

Daryl snickered. "Wouldn't want'a see ya get killed by Hershel."

Rick nodded and smiled, glancing at the group again before he left the cafeteria.

* * *

He was sure she saw him cross the field from the prison to the watchtower, and even from below Rick saw her shoulders tense. When he climbed the steps and opened the door, her head was already turned towards him.

"Hey," he announced, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Andrea said inquisitively.

"Not in the mood to celebrate," he said. Walking over, he sat right by her, his legs dangling over the edge of the watchtower's floor, his hands resting along the horizontal bars.

"It's Christmas," she told him lowly.

"It's some time around Christmas, best we can figure out," he corrected her. She nodded, accepting his reply and lowering her head. As usual, she didn't say anything, and the silence stretched on. Maybe it was the silence, or something else, that made him talk. "Kinda felt... out of place. Glenn has Maggie, Maggie has Hershel and Beth. Daryl has Carol. Tyreese has Sasha... They all seem to have somebody."

"You have Carl and Judith," she noted without looking over.

"No," Rick interjected quickly. "Carl has Beth. Judith has a bottle. I'm not needed back there."

"I'm sure you're wanted, though," Andrea said. There was a disconnect in her tone that didn't go unnoticed by Rick, like she was saying that because she thought that's what she should say.

"So are you."

She furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head so slightly he almost didn't catch it.

She said nothing else. It was how their interactions went as of late. He'd ask her something, or try to engage in conversation, and she'd just shrug lightly, or look away, or just kept quiet. He tried hard to honor Milton's request, leave her alone. But for some reason he couldn't. He couldn't watch her shrivel like this, wilt away like she was expiring. He wanted that old Andrea back, Andrea the firework, the woman who wasn't scared to walk up to him and give him a piece of her mind. He wanted, no - _needed_ - that Andrea back. He needed her back for their safety and he needed her back because this new Andrea was a reminder of every single mistake he'd made since he became the leader of this group.

He'd never really been good at this, though. Lori... Lori was good at this. Talking. Engaging with people. He wondered if this is how she felt all those years, wanting for him to talk, to be honest, and him just being like Andrea. Wilting away like a dying flower.

_Speak. **Speak.**_

Maybe that was it. Maybe Lori knew it all along. Shane knew it, too. Just speak.

"Truth is, I don't wanna be there," he said, impulsed by his internal struggles, knowing he needed to do this for himself. For her. And she looked at him briefly. He felt odd, out of his body, like it was someone else saying those words. He wasn't used to talking about his feelings, but he realized this might be the only way to bring Andrea back. And her response encouraged him. "Christmas. It used to be such a huge deal. We'd get together, Lori's family, my family... we'd sit around the tree and spoil the kids with presents."

The corner of her mouth tugged a bit and Rick sighed. Getting that reaction, he should've stopped. It was enough. Yet he couldn't. "I didn't want them to do this. I didn't want Carl to remember what Christmas used to be like."

Andrea nodded, looking down at the field. "Is he having a good time?"

"Oh yeah," Rick said, chuckling. "They all are."

"Then he's probably not thinking about what Christmas used to be like. He's thinking about Christmas now," she said, lowering her face again and fiddling with her fingers. "He's happy. That's all that matters."

Rick nodded, realizing how right she was and what a fool he was being, complaining about such trivial matters. "Guess that makes me kind of a Grinch, huh?"

Andrea rolled her eyes playfully before bringing her head down again. She waited a moment, and Rick could see the hesitation in her stance. But then she shrugged her shoulders again and said, "I figured out Santa Claus wasn't real when I was 4. It was so obvious."

"Four? Geez," Rick said, looking into the distance. "It might've taken me 12 years."

She nodded somewhat understandingly. Not surprised. She grew up in the big city, he was a small town boy. "Still, every year, I pretended to think he was real," she added, her tone low, like she was merely talking to herself and he wasn't there at all. "I'd force myself to wake up early on Christmas Day and I'd act so surprised about the presents. I'd ask my dad how it was possible that Santa knew. He'd tell me about the elves, and magic... the whole time I'd pretend to eat it up. But I always knew. Then Amy was born, and I had to keep pretending for her sake."

Rick smiled, turning his head towards her. "That's pretty noble."

"It's bullshit," she said quickly and it was the first Andrea thing she'd said since being back. "I wish I'd been honest. I've never been good at that, following my instincts."

Knowing what he knew now from Milton's tales he nodded somberly, but didn't want the night to end so darkly. So ignoring her self-pity, he reached behind himself and presented her with a bag. She raised her eyebrows instantly, doubt in her eyes.

"I was Glenn's Secret Santa," Rick explained with a nod. "I gave him three nights off. Best gift ever. Even Maggie thanked me. But it didn't take any effort. I felt I got off easy. So... Merry Christmas."

Andrea looked at the bag reluctantly. Rick saw the uncertainty in her eyes. He pushed the bag towards her, encouraging her to take it. When her hand reached for it, he felt light. But still she just let it rest on her lap. She looked at it. He looked at it, too.

"I, uh," he felt the need to say. "I always sucked at gifts. Every gift I ever gave Lori was a huge disappointment. Took me about 8 years to realize women don't particularly find vacuum cleaners and irons exciting."

He swore he could see something akin to a smile appear on her face, and she nodded. "You _would_ be one of those men."

"Yeah," he said, chuckling slightly. "I promise it's not a vacuum cleaner, though."

Still she sat there, looking at the bag like it was a bomb she needed to defuse. She was inquisitive, but still she didn't look at him. That was new, too. She always kept her face low. He knew why; she didn't want people to look at her scar.

So as she kept her face low and stared at the bag, she asked, "Is it an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle?"

Rick laughed, getting the reference and looking away. Laughter felt strange, and he needed a moment to recover from it. "No, it's a lamp shaped like a leg."

He didn't miss her smile. It was the first smile she didn't direct at Judith, and as she opened the bag he couldn't help but shift back and forth in place with anticipation. Finally she uncovered the content and stared in awe at the massive rifle. Her delicate fingers inspected it instantly, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I have an opening for a sniper, if you're interested," her said, leaning over slightly, watching her explore the rifle like she was holding a delicate rose. "I mean, I might have to call your previous employer, but."

She didn't say anything. For a moment he hesitated, wondered if he'd forced her back into her shell. She merely stared at the rifle, her face unreadable, her teeth biting into the inside of her lower lip. When she finally looked at him, she didn't really look at him, and he didn't miss the moisture in her eyes as she asked him with too much vulnerability, "You'd trust me with this?"

He smiled at the absurdity of her question, knowing she was only asking because of the group, because of her experiences, because Michonne didn't trust her and she probably didn't trust herself, either.

But he did, how could he not?

"Of course."

Streaks of tears fell out of her eyes as she finally made eye contact, her face worried. "Why?"

Rick smiled. "Because I just gave you a sniper rifle and you started crying."

She chortled then, rolling her eyes and wiping her tears away with her right thumb. "I didn't get you anything."

Rick rolled his eyes, too, but only to evince sarcasm and nonchalance, even though he wanted nothing more than to reach for her cheeks and clear her skin off of those tears. He didn't know why he was so done with this bullshit. He was so done with Andrea losing everything, being sad, all the time. "You're back. That's enough."

At his words all signs of merriment left her face and she looked at the rifle on her lap. All of a sudden he felt like he wasn't in her radar anymore, like she was inside herself and he stopped existing. Her temples tensed and flexed, her hands tightened around the rifle, and her eyes grew so dark that suddenly he didn't want to know what she was thinking, only that he didn't want her to let dark thoughts consume her.

Not on Christmas.

Rick leaned over, his shoulder nudging hers. "You don't have to hide from us, you know."

Andrea nodded slowly, and Rick could almost see her internal struggle. Tears pooled in her eyes but she blinked them away and turned her face away from him to hide both her scar and her moment of self-doubt.

"Maggie and Glenn were there the whole time, and I didn't do anything," she said.

Rick nodded, looking at her, waiting for her to look back. He'd never been a talker, but he was good with expressions. He'd gotten away with keeping quiet all the time so long as entire monologues flashed through his features. But with her looking away, once again he found he had to speak. "You didn't know."

"I keep telling myself that," she chuckled mirthlessly. "But it doesn't make me feel better."

Rick looked away, knowing too much about survivor's guilt, about taking responsibility for other people's hurts even though he wasn't directly responsible for them. He still blamed himself for Amy, Jim, Jaqui, Dale... Sophia. Lori. Anyone might say their deaths were just happenstance, or maybe destiny.

But all those deaths... he took the weigh of the cross and carried it every day. Every single one of those people. Gone because he'd failed them as their leader.

He could've reached over and taken her hand in comfort. He could've rolled his eyes. He could've called her a fool and try to convince her it wasn't her fault. But that allowed him the consideration that maybe Sophia's death wasn't his fault. That Lori's death wasn't his fault. And he couldn't accept that.

So he veered the conversation in a different direction, and regretted blurting out the words instantly. "What happened?"

It was maybe the best or worst thing to ask. The best because he was done with all these guessing games. The worst because her temples tensed instantly. He was sorry he couldn't abide by Milton's request, but when she finally shrugged her shoulders he realized why Milton's only friends were internet friends - it wasn't that Milton was being considerate of Andrea's feelings, just scared to face his own.

Rick wasn't like that, though, and as she shook her head and her shoulders sagged, he geared himself.

"Our first night there, I slept 6 hours. A whole six hours."

"Shit," Rick uttered. "Can't remember the last time I got more than two hours in a row."

"Yeah, exactly." She smiled bitterly and looked away. Several walkers roamed around outside the prison and she looked at them coldly. "I'm not cut out for this world."

Rick looked at her. "Who is?"

Andrea looked at him. "You, Daryl, Michonne, hell, even Carl," she said. "You've adapted. I haven't. I can't. I'm so tired."

Rick nodded, knowing they were all tired. Yet for some reason nobody talked about this. Maybe because they'd gotten used to it and maybe that was it, what she was trying to say. Yet he found it odd, that she'd survived this long, if she wasn't cut out for this world.

"I keep waking up every day thinking things are gonna get back to normal. I can't accept that this is it."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Rick said. "I think we all want that."

"It's more than want," she explained, furring her eyebrows at the rifle. "Michonne saw all the signs right away. I... I may have seen them, too, but I was so desperate for things to be okay again, normal, that I just convinced myself she was being crazy.

He fed me lie after lie with a spoon and I just sat there and ate it all up and then asked for seconds. How can you trust me after that?"

Rick looked down, feeling her eyes on the side of his face, waiting for a response. Truthfully, he saw her point. Falling for Woodbury, did it make her weak? Did it make her stupid, gullible... expendable? He knew that's what she believed, what some of the members of the group believed. But he couldn't judge her, when he'd made the same mistake before. Not once. Several times.

"I almost lost Carl, we lost Otis, we almost lost Daryl... because I couldn't accept the fact that Sophia was dead," he said and felt her shoulders tense instantly. When he looked at her, he was surprised by the show of concern, but mostly solidarity and understanding in her eyes, so intense that he wondered when was the last time she'd felt connected to someone. "We never would've gone to the farm. Maybe Dale would still be alive, Shane..." The mere mention of his gone brother made his throat knot, but he cleared it. "I knew she was gone. I just didn't want to believe it. I risked all your lives looking for a dead body. You still trusted me after that."

He was no longer looking at her, but didn't miss the sniff that escaped her as she looked away into the fields. He could almost hear the festivities going on inside, everyone merry and happy, yet confessing all these sins - to Andrea of all people - and hearing her own, somehow made him feel lighter, like the thoughts had been weighing him down since the little girl ran into those woods and never came out.

Silence stretched on, and suddenly, as if she'd remembered his original question, she continued. "Milton came up with this plan to play him. I tried. After a while... I just couldn't anymore. He made me physically sick."

Rick nodded, suddenly feeling queasy himself, suddenly realizing that maybe it would be best not to know. Maybe Milton had been right, maybe he shouldn't have asked, not for her sake - she seemed to be holding herself together impressively - but for his own, for the guilt he still felt every time he looked at her scar, knowing that if he'd gone back for her at the farm, that scar wouldn't be there.

He couldn't look at her now, and his knuckles were white from gripping the bars so tight. He could picture the look of disgust on her face and it was enough.

"I took a knife to bed one night," she said quietly, yet surprisingly calm, he noted. "He woke up before I could do anything. I don't have to tell you he wasn't very happy."

An overwhelming need suddenly took over him after hearing that, a need to get in one of the cars, drive to Woodbury, and kill the asshole himself. He'd always seen the maniac holding a gun, putting holes on the prisons' walls. He never could've imagined that the Governor was this sadistic in his personal life as well, and knowing now Andrea had been a victim of it made him want to throw up.

It also filled him with a renowned sense of revenge.

She didn't seem sad or troubled when he looked at her. She merely sat there staring at the rifle like it was giving her some sort of strength. He tried to imagine how desperate she must've been, to risk her life like that and try and kill the Governor in his sleep. She had to have known she was signing her own death certificate. Did she do it knowing she would possibly be killed? Had it been so torturing that once again she was looking for a way out?

"Why?"

She looked at him like the answer was so obvious, he was an idiot for asking. "He was going to attack the prison."

He had to laugh, albeit bitterly, at her response. He shook his head, suddenly had the yearning to shake _her_. What the hell had she been thinking? "He would've killed you."

Yet she just nodded. "I figured with him out of the way, Woodbury would fall and you'd all make it out of this mess alive."

"And you?" he said.

Andrea shrugged her shoulder. "I guess I made my peace with it. I told you I'm not cut out for this world. If I'm gonna die, might as well die doing something good for you. For the group."

Rick didn't know what to say, and maybe couldn't have said anything even if he'd tried. Guilt reared its ugly head again when he thought about the fact that she was still willing to die for the group, a group that left her behind in a farm overrun with walkers, a group that made a conscience choice not to go back for her.

It was easy to write her off, when so much had happened that night and because she'd never really been in his radar. Dale would've raged hell and never would've stopped until every member of the group was out there, looking for Andrea. But Rick... he dismissed it... _her,_ so easily.

Learning she was still alive had been shocking. Knowing Andrea was in Woodbury had changed everything. Daryl's initial reaction and recount of his night there made it seem like she was in trouble, but Michonne convinced them otherwise.

_They have beds, showers, plenty of food and medicine. Trust me, she's in Disney Land right now, just having the time of her life._

If it'd been that great in Woodbury, then, he wondered why she turned on the Governor so quickly? For him. For the group. She went on a suicide mission for them, when neither of them shed a single tear when they thought she had died.

Never again, he thought. He'd never again question her loyalties, never again take her importance for granted.

"Rick." Her voice startled him and he looked up. Her face looked scared, vulnerable, and for a moment he was afraid she was going to fall apart and he wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces.

But then her face hardened and she looked determined. "When they get here... don't kill him." He looked at her oddly, but finally understood when she added, "I wanna to do it myself."

He nodded, looking at the walkers below. He felt apprehensive, knowing that if anyone gets the chance to kill the Governor, they should take it. But her fingers playing nervously in his peripheral vision and the reminder of that scar that would mark her face forever made him re-consider. He owed her this, and way more, and he knew she, of all people, needed to do this the most. How could he deny her of her redemption? Of her chance to close the chapter on this horror story?

Rick looked at her and smiled. "That's a promise."

She looked so relieved then, so light, like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She leaned her chin against the rail, the ghost of a smile on her face, and he wondered what she was thinking.

He didn't ask out of respect.

"Why don't you join us down there?" he said and her smile vanished.

She shook her head quickly. "No. You're right, I'd feel out of place."

"Why?"

Andrea shrugged her shoulders and stared at her hands. She needed a manicure, she thought, and regretted thinking that right away. That was the problem, the fact that she couldn't get over the truth that this world would stay like this forever. The others, even Carol, had adapted, thrived in it, yet she couldn't stop thinking about the old world, wishing she could shower twice a day, eat hot meals. She couldn't stop doing her hair every damn morning, even though it was unnecessary. On runs she'd find herself looking for the cutest clothes, instead of reaching for whatever rag was closest like the others. It was foolish. Why couldn't she just let it go? Why couldn't she admit this was it?

The group could. They did. And she felt like she was lagging behind.

When she didn't reply, Rick nudged his knee with hers. She still hesitated for a moment. "They're different," she uttered, knowing he wouldn't let the matter drop. "I'm different, too."

"We've all changed," he mused.

"You've changed together," she said. "You've become this force, this family, and I just don't know if I'm a part of it anymore."

"That's ridiculous," Rick said quickly. "What you did in Woodbury, that's something you do for family." She seemed reluctant as he watched her, and just couldn't consider the thought that Andrea wasn't one of them anymore. "I know they don't see it yet. But they will, even if I have to glue their eyelids to their foreheads."

Andrea chuckled slightly, amused by the mental image. She allowed herself to look at him for a second, and couldn't help musing, first and foremost, that he needed a haircut. She shook the vain thought away, and instead settled for the realization of how much Rick had changed. He was no longer the Officer Friendly that nearly got them killed in Atlanta, the man who lived by moral codes in a world with no morals. He was much quieter now, but stronger. She could see it in the new lines on his face but could also feel it whenever he was around. He'd led the group through hell and lost his wife in the process, but he kept fighting.

And he would keep fighting, she knew that, until his last breath.

She wanted him to win this. How she wanted him to win this war.

Thinking about it, she suddenly smiled.

"Maybe I did get you something." Andrea reached inside her pocket as he waited with curiosity, and handed him a piece of paper. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about that place. I don't know why. Or I didn't know why. But maybe this is it."

Rick unfolded the paper and stared at the content, confused. It was a drawing. He looked at her and found her smiling. "A layout?"

"Of Woodbury," she said, reaching with her fingers and pointing at important landmarks. "The infirmary is here. They have good stuff, if you ever decide we should go back, it's a good place to hit. They keep all their weapons here," she added, pointing at another building. "Again, good stuff. Not just weapons. He's got cars, military cars."

Rick smiled, looking at the paper. It was drawn with so much detail he suddenly understood why she spent so much time at the watchtower. He wasn't sure if he wanted to return to that place, thought it might be safest to fight this war from behind the prison walls, but should he decide to go back, this would help them immensely.

"This is where he sleeps."

He didn't miss the way her tone changed, became somber. She looked at the drawing of the Governor's house and he could see the darkness, the hatred in her eyes. Once again he didn't want to imagine what happened to her in that house, those three nights that she was his prisoner. He looked at her scar again and when she felt his eyes on it she lowered her head, but he wouldn't let her brood.

"This is great."

"You think so?" she said.

"Absolutely," Rick said. She looked so small and uncertain he had the sudden urge to kiss the side of her head, provide her some comfort, but something stopped him. He wasn't sure she would welcome the physical contact, and he wasn't sure he was ready to feel another woman's skin, so soon after Lori. He chided himself for the thought, knowing Andrea was a friend, but the thought materialized anyway. He thought of the day they met in Atlanta, after her fire extinguished and they stood in front of that jewelry case, wondering if it was still considered wrong to steal. She'd talked about her sister with such love and adoration he couldn't help staring at her, at the way her eyes became bluer and her cheeks dimpled.

Since the moment he woke up in that hospital bed, all his thoughts had been with Lori and Carl. Standing in that department store, hearing her talk about mermaids and magic... it was the first time he'd allowed himself a moment to breathe, to smile, to forget about the ugly world outside and their dire situations. They were all but dead, dead for sure trapped in that store with thousands of walkers outside. Yet as he heard her talk about her sister and she stroked that necklace delicately, it didn't seem to matter.

He wouldn't call it an attraction. He was loyal to his wife even now. But it'd been _something_, something kind of tranquil. He felt it now again, as she sat there staring into the fields and he looked ahead to see what had her so enthralled. He thought it might be the walkers, but instead she was looking at the sky. The sun was going down and painting the clouds orange and purple. Birds were flying home and the crickets were beginning to sing. It was a mind blowing sunset and he felt an immense sense of peace fill him, akin to that he felt that afternoon, hearing about mermaids.

When was the last time he'd watched a sunset? When was the last time he even allowed himself a moment to look around and marvel at nature? Suddenly he was so appreciative for the reminder that he smiled and looked at her.

"You're wrong."

Andrea looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed. "About what?"

"About not being cut out for this world," Rick told her. "The rest of us see the messy parts," he said, indicating the walkers down below. "You see the beautiful things."

She looked towards the sky again and shook her head. "Lot of good that does."

"A lot," Rick said. "We've lost a lot of people. We might lose more. Maybe all of them. I fight for the group, for all its members. You're fighting for that," he said, pointing his head at the sky. "For the world to be beautiful again. I think that's something we've all forgotten."

Andrea considered the words, and as she did and looked at the sky, she couldn't help feeling strong for the first time in a long time. He was right; for as long as they had people he would continue fighting. But she knew she could continue to fight even if it was just down to her - hadn't she proved that to herself when she was left at the farm? For her it wasn't just about keeping her family alive, her friends, but also about returning the world to the place it used to be.

She smiled slowly. "I never thought of it like that."

Rick shook his head, looking at her. "Me neither."

They sat there together a while longer in silence, enjoying the colors the sun cast over them as it left the sky. It was peaceful, quiet, for some reason even the walkers weren't making much noise. Rick thought of Christmas in the before, with all the hustle and bustle of it all, all the shopping, all the cooking, all the stress to get the Lori the right gift as his workload increased. In the end he would always love Christmas (though as his marriage continued to deteriorate they became less and less merry), but there was something to be said for his first Christmas after the Apocalypse, sitting on a watchtower, watching the sun fall out of the sky.

And in great company.

But then suddenly they heard a shout from below:

"Dad!"

"Busted," Andrea teased Rick.

He chuckled and shouted down at Carl. "I'll be right there." He sighed, watching Carl run back to the prison. As the little boy disappeared her turned to Andrea. "You sure you won't join us?"

Andrea shrugged her shoulders. "I don't wanna miss the end."

Rick nodded, wishing he could stay and enjoy the sunset with her, but he knew the group wanted him back. He stood up and reached the door, when suddenly she called for him. He turned around and found her hugging her rifle like it was a stuffed animal.

"Thank you, Rick."

He smiled at her and pointed at the rifle. "Just don't shoot your eye out."

She smiled brightly and ducked her head, resuming her watch. As Rick walked out he couldn't help noticing how pretty her scar made her.

The End


End file.
